


Love: The Common Cold

by SemperSomnium



Category: The Croods (2013)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperSomnium/pseuds/SemperSomnium
Summary: Eep doesn't know what it means when her drummer speads up, her throat tightens and her skin warms. She thinks she might have the cold. But even if she doesn't, she's pretty certain it's all Guy's fault.





	Love: The Common Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This is crossposted from FFNet under the same username. 
> 
> Just a small warning; Eep is a little violent towards Guy in this fic, but I don’t believe it is any more than what is demonstrated in canon. It isn’t anything major but please do let me know if you believe I should warn more heavily or if it makes you uncomfortable. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the fic – the only other warning should be for the possibility of fluff induced cavities.

Eep isn’t entirely sure what the tightness in her chest means.

She tries to ignore the way her chest tenses and gets heavier sometimes, the way the drumming beneath her skin quickens, and her throat constricts. It crops up at the strangest times, and then leaves just as erratically.

The pains are annoying, and they make it hard to breathe. The warmth is nice though, the way it spreads from her chest all the way down to her toes (even though they’re hidden in shoes!) and then touches the tip of her sniffer. It makes even the darkest and coldest of nights when she refuses to join the sleep pile bearable. But the pains still worry her, and she finds herself thinking for _minutes_ during the day about what they could mean, and she hates that. She’s got better things to do, and not one of them involves _worrying._

But she does worry about them, and she eventually thinks that maybe it could be the common cold. Her neighbours had described strange things about family members dying of the illness; had told of their sniffers spraying scents everywhere instead of smelling them, their eyes tearing as if in great pain, their bodies getting heavy and thinking it dark and time for sleep. Had told of a heat that burnt under the skin, frying all thoughts until there was no awareness anymore; just heat and sickness. Traitorous bodies, Eep had summarised. And her strange affliction could be part of it.

It’s only then that she starts to fear the chest pains and the strange warmth. When she thinks of what they could mean, what they could take from her. Starts to fear that the drummer in her chest will speed up so much she won’t be able to catch her breath, and it will just quicken and quicken until she can’t keep up with it anymore, no matter how fast she runs.

And the worst thing? She’s pretty sure it’s Guy’s fault.

She’s noticed how the pains appear whenever Guy does, whenever he smiles his quirky little smile, or tells a joke, or has an _idea_. Those are all wonderful things but the pains come every time and it’s _terrible_.

She briefly thinks of keeping her thoughts to herself. But Eep isn’t used to thinking before doing, and she’s _scared_. She hates being scared, and rage bubbles up from her gut.

She finds Guy at the water that never ends. She often finds him there, because he wonders what is on the other bank, wonders if maybe Tomorrow isn’t over there, somewhere. He also seems to have some of his best ideas watching the water move, and he is watching again as the sun starts to set over the beach.

She makes enough noise that he turns to her, his lips already smiling.

“Eep, come look, I think–”

Eep doesn’t care because her chest is tight again, and her fear just makes it _worse,_ so she does what she always does to things that think they can beat her, and she tackles him. He squawks as she pins him to the sand.

“Wha-? Eep, what–”

“What have you done to me?” She shouts. “You’re doing something so stop it, _stop it_!”

“I don’t–” His eyes are wide and Belt is staring at her accusingly from beside them, but her throat is still _tight_.

“You’ve given it to me, haven’t you? I _know_. Take it back, I don’t want it!”

“Eep, I don’t – I haven’t given you anything! Well – unless you count the shell, and your shoes, and the meat the other night, and the flowers – oh no.” He looks stricken. “You didn’t like them did you, I knew it–”

“No!” Eep says, frustrated because he’s not _getting it_. And besides, she’d loved those flowers, and still has a few woven in her hair. “No,” she leans down close to his face to whisper, “you’ve given me _the_ _common cold_.”

Guy goes white, staring up at her with wide, blank eyes. After a long moment of silence, Belt squeaks quietly, _dun dun dun_. Eep ignores him, her eyes locked with Guy’s horrified ones.

“You’re dying?” Guy asks. His voice is terribly small, and now _he_ looks scared.

Eep grits her teeth. “ _You_ gave it to me.”

“But – how?” He seems horribly confused and it makes Eep want to pull on his hair until some of it tears out and he finally _understands_.

“What do you _mean_ how? I have the cold and you gave it to me!” She resists the urge to shake him.

“But _I_ don’t have it!”

“No,” she agrees, “I have it now, you’ve _given it to me!”_ He isn’t _getting_ it, so she feels justified in shaking him a little. His head flops around before he grabs at her upper arms to still them.

“But I haven’t!” He shouts. “Eep, I _can’t_ have given you the cold because _I’ve_ never had it!”

He pushes up against her hands, and maybe she’s unsure enough that she lets it because – because he looks like he means it. His brow – so unpronounced – is furrowed and his eyes are dark and shiny as they stare up at her, alarmed and confused. She traces the downwards curve of his lips with her eyes, and _oh_ , there goes her drummer again, and maybe she’s going to die now after all.

“But,” she says, frustrated, “but who gave it to me then? What’s wrong with me?”

He sits up fully and one of his hands balances her on his lap, while the other reaches up to brush across her cheek. The warmth follows his touch until her face feels like she’s been sitting too close to the fire again; the illness is getting _worse_.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he asks, his eyes still scared.

“ _That_ ,” she blurts. Belt makes a confused noise from beside them, and Guy’s face mimics it. “ _That_ ,” she says again, and brings his hand from her hip to her drummer. Surely he’s able to feel it pounding beneath her skin, surely he can feel how warm her cheeks are, and can tell how aware she is of his legs under hers. But his face is still confused.

“Ugh,” Eep grunts, thoroughly annoyed. Her hand pushes his harder into her chest. “My drummer. It keeps speeding up. It goes faster and faster, and what if it doesn’t stop? I’ll die. And my skin,” she brushes his hand over her cheek. “It burns like there’s fire under it. Sometimes I can’t breathe, my throat is so tight, and other times I feel fuzzy, as if I’m breathing too much.”

Guy looks more and more perplexed as she lists her symptoms, and suddenly she can’t take it anymore. She punches his shoulder, her teeth bared viciously as he flinches and yelps.

“Don’t you _get_ it?” She shouts. “It’s your fault! I look at you and you steal my breath, and when you touch me my entire body warms. When we hunt I’ll look over my shoulder and there you are, staring at me with that dopey grin on your face and suddenly I feel light headed, as if I could sprout wings like a piranhakeet bird and fly off!”

She’s yelling at him because her chest _hurts_ , damn it, and his mouth is gaping and his eyes look like she’s reaching into his chest and pulling out _his_ drummer, or maybe she’s just eating him whole. Either way he looks at her like she’s _killing_ him, and it’s all his _fault_.

“Every time you tell a story I can’t breathe, because I’m too busy watching your hands move, or the way fire shines in your hair. I can always tell when you get an idea because your eyes light up, and I have to know where you are before I can sleep.” Her nails bite into her palms as she clenches her hands, but her voice lowers and catches because this, _this_ is what worries her the most; “And when I wake up I don’t look for the sun first anymore, I look for you. I make sure that you’re still safe and smiling and _with me._ ”

She pants into the silence, out of words. Her throat is tight, but it feels different; it feels painful and makes her eyes burn. She feels so tired.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t find you.” It’s a confession and a plea; because she doesn’t know but she thinks it might steal her breath for good.

“Eep…” Guy whispers as he leans his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes as their sniffers brush, once, twice, and she’s pushing closer because she _needs_ more. She feels… vulnerable, and achy, and Guy’s breath mixing with hers and then their _lips_ touching – it’s better. He makes her feel better.

He gasps as he backs off a bit, and his shoulders are shaking. It takes her a moment to realise he’s laughing, and then it takes all of half a drum-beat to realise he’s _laughing at her_.

“Asshole,” she shrieks, and she punches him in the gut. He gasps and whines, falling back into the sand as she raises her arm again for another blow.

“No!” He chokes, clutching his stomach and wheezing. “No, weren’ laughin’ a’choo,” he slurs.

Eep reluctantly lowers her fist. After a moment of watching him try to get his breath back she pats at his face. “Sorry,” she says. She always forgets that he’s not quite like her family, that it doesn’t take as much to break him. She tangles her fingers in his hair and strokes, watching the slide of his hair through her fingers and waiting for him to re-catch his breath beneath her.

Eventually his hand reaches up to grab hers, and he pulls it to his cheek. He’s smiling at her, his eyes warm and fond, and she can’t help but smile back.

“Eep,” he says, “you’re not _sick_.”

She’s nearly forgotten what they were talking about in the first place. Still, she scrunches up her face in confusion.

“I’m not?”

“No, promise.” His eyes are maybe laughing at her, but the relief pounding through her is so all-consuming she doesn’t really mind.

“My mum and dad,” he starts, and she freezes a little because he doesn’t talk about his family much. “They had this saying between them; they only ever said it to each other. My mum said once that if I ever met someone who stole my breath and trapped it in the flick of their fingers, or at the corner of their smile,” he runs his fingers over her lips, and her breath catches. “If they could convince my drummer to beat faster than I could think with just a glance, or at the sight of sunlight in hair,” his hand moves up to to run fingers through orange strands, and he looks so _beautiful_ smiling up at her. “If one person turned my body against me and killed me with every drum-beat, then I had found the person I was meant to say their words to.”

His smile turns shy, and his eyes flick away and then back. Eep can’t remember the last time she breathed.

“Eep,” he says, “ _I love you_.”

It shouldn’t matter. She doesn’t recognise the words, doesn’t know what they _mean_. But she thinks she knows that look in his eyes, knows the red flush of his cheeks; as if his drummer has tightened his throat and stolen his breath, as if his thoughts could fly except they’re so heavy with looking at something so _beautiful_.

It takes _her_ breath away, and she has to gasp to get it back; quick little catches of breath that drag down her throat until her drummer slows and her air is released with the water in her eyes. She sobs as she buries her head in his neck because her chest doesn’t hurt anymore and instead she just feels _warm_.

“Eep!” Guy squawks and pats at her hair frantically. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry!”

Belt chirps anxiously and a fuzzy paw comes up to her arm. His big green eyes gaze up at her, worried, and Guy’s fingers are tangling in her hair. She’s still crying, but she starts to smile too. Happiness settles into her stomach like a swarm of piranhakeet birds coming to rest, or maybe like it’s been there all along.

“I love you,” she says, feeling the way the words settle on her tongue.

She marvels at how they calm her drummer and soothe her throat; at how Guy’s hand freezes, then clenches gently, gripping her head and pressing it into his neck. He buries his face in her hair. She can feel him _breathe_.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

It’s like waking to the sun, or to Guy’s eyes already on hers.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been pointed out to me that Eep does actually tell her dad that she loves him in the movie, therefore Guy and Eep's conversation here doesn't actually make sense. So sorry about this, I managed to skim over that completely when I originally wrote the fic just after the movie came out. 
> 
> Apart from that though, I hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your thoughts! :3


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